


It's Rotten Work. (Not to Me.)

by snarkyvamp



Category: Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Dan to the rescue, Emotionally Repressed, First Kiss, Fluff, Healing wounds, M/M, and they were ROOMMATES, but not for long, re-animation gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyvamp/pseuds/snarkyvamp
Summary: 'You're hurt,'Herbert scowled at the interruption, and held his bleeding arm behind him.'I'm fine. It's just a scratch,'Dan rolled his eyes and walked towards his friend. He supposed that that's what they were after everything they'd been through.'You're bleeding! Let me see,'He held his hand out expectantly, and Herbert stared at it like he'd never seen one before.'… It's nothing. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do.'
Relationships: Daniel Cain/Herbert West
Comments: 13
Kudos: 87





	It's Rotten Work. (Not to Me.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy this fic! Please let me know what you think of it!! Bye for now!!

Morning sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains which hung lazily over Dan’s bedroom window. The light danced across his face and he let out a tired groan and turned his face from it. 

He reveled in the comfortable sensation of his duvet and pillows, and had almost succeeded in drifting back to sleep when he heard it. A loud crash, like the shattering of glass. It had come from the basement below him.

_Herbert._

Dan’s eyes were open instantaneously and he all but sprang from the bed, almost lurching forwards into the wall opposite him. 

‘Herbert?!’ 

He called for his roommate as he wrenched his bedroom door open and made his way down the hall. The sound of banging and cursing rose from the floorboards below him.

This was not an unusual occurrence. In fact, it was almost a normal part of life in the house that he and Herbert West shared. That is, if any part of the lives either of them lived within those walls could be called “normal” at all. 

Most likely, Dan concluded as he reached the basement door, where the sounds of commotion were loudest, Herbert had been experimenting. Again. And the unfortunate subject of his re-animation had turned on him in a chemical or revenge fueled rage. Again.

If asked for his thoughts on this, Daniel would say that it served the morbid man right, and that if one of his “test subjects” eventually took him out, then at least Dan would get a good night’s sleep without this kind of disruption. 

However, the fact that he was even bothering to go to the basement at all, and that his heart was stuttering behind his ribs as he took the stairs that led to it two at a time, showed otherwise.

As his bare feet landed on the cold, concrete floor of the basement, Dan spotted the source of the commotion. 

A beaker of Herbert’s re-agent lay shattered on the floor, the sickly green, luminous fluid staining the grey surface. The aforementioned scientist in question was being backed into a corner by a small, snarling and obviously previously deceased dog. The growls that came from it were strange and mangled, and saliva dropped from its open mouth, which boasted glistening teeth. 

The sight of Herbert, a grown man, backed into a corner by a terrier would, under normal circumstances, have caused Dan to split his sides laughing. However, these were anything but normal circumstances. Dan knew full well the danger that a re-agent fueled rage could cause, no matter what size or species of animal it had been sparked in.

Herbert was all but clinging to the wall behind him, and behind the wide rims of his glasses his eyes were frantic. One of the sleeves of his shirt had been torn off below the elbow, and on the skin of his forearm red, bleeding scratches could be seen. As his eyes darted around, they finally fell on Dan. Their eyes met, and relief briefly fleeted across Herbert’s face.

Dan approached from the base of the stairs slowly, lest the dog should notice him. 

‘Good morning,’ Herbert said with a trembling voice, almost as though they were standing over a pot of coffee instead of a blood thirsty, mangey dog.

Dan really did nearly laugh at that, but the way that his friend stood so rigidly, and the fact that he spoke through gritted teeth with gradually reddening cheeks told him that this was Herbert acting as though he was in control of the situation, as to try and convince him that he wasn't terrified. 

So, to avoid having to deal with both an angry dog and an angry Herbert, he bit back his laugh and focused on the situation at hand. 

His eyes scanned the room, trying to find anything that could help. There seemed to be nothing among the piles of organ trays, laboratory equipment and specimen jars. 

He could use a scalpel, but after having to kill poor Rufus, he would really rather deal with test animals a different way. So he would have to improvise. In one of the further corners, a long abandoned lawnmower stood, covered by a thick tarp. 

Cautiously, Dan made his way over to it, never taking his eyes off of the dog, who was beginning to approach his friend.

'Dan…' Herbert's voice cracked.

'On it,'

Reaching backwards, Dan grabbed the tarp and slowly pulled it from the machinery it sat on, gently taking it in his hands as quietly as he could. 

Once he had it all gathered in his arms, he sprang into action. He took two quick steps towards the dog and threw the tarp over it. In the split second he had, he scooped up both the tarp and the now enraged dog before sprinting up the stairs. 

As he ran, the zombie dog in his arms howled, wriggled and struggled as though it were possessed. In a way, it was. But Dan only tightened his grip on it as he barrelled through the basement door and onto the main landing. As he approached the front door, he shoved the tarp under one arm as best as he could.

Finally within reach of the door, he yanked it open and dumped the hellhound outside, tarp and all, before turning and slamming the door behind him. He felt bad, knowing that the dog was now a nasty surprise for anyone who should be unfortunate enough to happen upon it, but he was far too tired and desensitized to this sort of event to really care. 

And, despite his best efforts to the contrary, he found himself retracing his own steps back to the basement to check on Herbert.

He should have gone back to his room and slammed the door behind him, to catch up on his disturbed sleep. He should have done anything but what he was doing. And what he was doing, was slowly descending the basement stairs, with the seed of worry in his chest.

'Herbert?' He called as he reached the last step.

Looking around, he saw his roommate standing over his workbench. He was trying to clean himself up, tugging at his torn shirt and clumsily adjusting his glasses. His hands were shaking.

Dan cleared his throat.

Herbert froze, took a breath and turned around.

'Dan. Thank you… for helping me,' 

His voice was hoarse, and as he spoke he tugged his tie back into place. 

Dan wondered absently if he ever wore anything other than suits.

'I could have sworn I gave it the right dosage. Dogs systems are so temperamental, but then again it wasn't exactly fresh-'

'You're hurt,'

Herbert scowled at the interruption, and held his bleeding arm behind him.

'I'm fine. It's just a scratch,'

Dan rolled his eyes and walked towards his friend. He supposed that that's what they were after everything they'd been through.

'You're bleeding! Let me see,' 

He held his hand out expectantly, and Herbert stared at it like he'd never seen one before.

'… It's nothing. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do.'

Dan sighed. Herbert obviously wanted to be left alone. But as he looked into Herbert's guarded eyes, Dan didn't feel like he could let that happen.

'You know as well as I do that if you leave it like that it could get infected.' He stated matter-of-factly. Of course, the chances of that were extremely low, but who knows what one could catch from a zombie dog. He was still holding his hand out. 

After a moment, and a raised brow from Dan, the scientist sighed. With a half hearted glare, he placed his trembling arm in the outstretched hand.

'I told you, it's just a scratch,' his voice was different now. Softer.

Dan nodded. It was a scratch, several. And they were nasty ones. Dry blood had stained the pale skin around them. It had to hurt.

'I've got a first aid box upstairs, c'mon,'

'No, thank you. I can handle it by myself,' 

Despite this claim, he made no move to remove his arm.

'But you won't. I know you, you'll just mope around down here with your corpses,' there was a playful tone in Dan's voice.

Herbert's face reddened.

'I do not "mope" down here!'

Now, Dan laughed.

'Yes you do! You mope around, ranting about how you will not be shackled by the failures of god!' He said the last part in his best, poor impersonation of Herbert.

'I don't sound like that!'

'You do!'

Herbert tried to snatch his arm back, but before he could, Dan caught his hand in his own.

'Okay, okay. You don't sound like that. Now will you please let me help you?'

His friend looked like a deer in the headlights. His face was still flushed, and his wide eyes were fixed on their hands. He wordlessly nodded.

Dan smiled.

'Right,'

Then he turned around and began to walk to the stairs. He was still holding Herbert's hand in his own. However, this fact only hit him as he reached the first, rotting step.

_What am I doing?!_

What he was doing, of course, was holding hands with Herbert West. His heart usually began to beat that little bit faster when he and his roommate (friend? Colleague? _Partner?)_ were together, but this was different. As he ascended the stairs and felt the warmth and weight of Herbert's hand in his own, his treacherous heart was threatening to bruise his ribs.

The most unbelievable part of this, he thought, wasn't that he was holding Herbert's hand. It was that Herbert was letting him. The man followed Dan up the stairs silently, returning his firm grip on his hand.

He expected Herbert to say something about it, anything really. He had often caused a fuss over less. But the silence? The calmness? It wasn't like him. It was eerie, almost. Dan considered saying something about it himself, but if he did, then Herbert might let go of him. And he found himself realising that he didn't want to stop holding his hand. 

They reached the landing at the top of the stairs and Dan found himself leading the way to the broom cupboard where the first aid supplies were kept. He was almost unwilling to accept how natural this scenario felt. That is, if any part of holding your colleague's hand while getting ready to patch him up after being attacked by a re-animated dog can be called natural. 

Dan supposed it was, for them.

He opened the cupboard door and fetched the first aid kit down from it's shelf with one hand, rather unwilling to let go of Herbert's. He thought that the man might let go of his as soon as they reached the hallway. But he was glad that he didn't. 

From the cupboard, they went into the living room and Dan motioned for Herbert to sit on the couch. He did so hesitantly, and Dan followed suit. They both still clasped the other's hand.

Dan set the first aid box down on the coffee table and flipped open the latch.

'You can let go of my hand, if you need to,' 

Herbert had spoken so abruptly that Dan nearly shot up in the air. He turned to look at his friend, and saw that his gaze was fixed on the shining surface of his leather shoes. The tips of his ears were tinged with pink.

Regardless of whether he needed to, Dan didn't want to. But now that it had been brought to attention, he felt like he had to.

'Oh, right,' he said with a forced laugh, 'just keep your arm up.'

He dug through the box to hide the fact that his face was flushed. Quickly he placed antiseptic wipes and several large, square plasters out on the table.

He picked up a wipe and turned back to Herbert.

'Now this might-'

'Sting,' Herbert interrupted, 'I know. I _am_ a doctor.'

'Well excuse me,' 

Dan gently pressed the wipe against the scratches on his friend's arm who, despite the preparedness implied by his previous statement, let out a hiss of pain. He offered an apologetic look as he continued to clean the small wounds. Once the dried blood had been wiped away and the scratches looked significantly less aggressive, Dan tossed the used wipe to the side. He then picked up a plaster, peeled off the film, and gently placed it fully over the scratches.

'There,' he snapped the first aid box closed, pleased with a job well done.

He didn't know why he'd been so careful. If it had been him who'd gotten scratched, he knew that he wouldn't have even bothered to do anything. He would have run some cold water over it at the most. 

'Well, thank you,' 

Herbert brought his now treated arm in towards his chest, examining the plaster. Then, in a rare display, the corners of his mouth began to twitch upwards into a crooked smile.

'You know, you treated me so much like a child that I thought you'd offer me a lollipop when you were finished,'

Dan let out a laugh before he could help it. So rarely did Herbert make any jokes that weren't morbidly themed that, even if this one was aimed at him, he was glad to hear a more lighthearted one.

Dan picked up the box and discarded waste as he stood, chuckling slightly as he did.

Then it happened.

'Maybe I should have offered to kiss it better,' 

The words were out of his mouth before he even realised what he was saying. The chuckle died on Dan's lips.

_Why did I say that?!_

Why indeed.

'… What did you say?' 

Herbert sounded like he thought he was hearing things, and Dan couldn't blame him.

Instead of owning up to what he had said, and his very repressed feelings, he chose to turn to the door. 

As he all but ran back to the broom cupboard, Dan could hear Meg's voice in his head. Telling him that he needed to communicate better. That he needed to get out of his head. 

She was always right. He put the box in his hands back on its shelf and sighed. He could play it off as a joke, but that wouldn't explain his sudden exit. 

If he acted like nothing had happened, he knew awkwardness would only rise between them. But if he at least acknowledged it, the worst that could happen would be Herbert killing and re-animating him. At this stage, Dan would take it. 

He closed the cupboard door and risked a peek into the living room. Herbert still sat on the couch, staring at the wall in front of him. One of his thumbs traced over the plaster on his arm. He wore an expression that was all too familiar to Dan. It was one he had seen many times on the man's face, and was usually reserved for when he stood over beakers and body parts. It meant that he was trying to make sense of something. 

Dan made his way to the kitchen, dropping the waste from the kit into the bin by the door. He paused there, hovering in the doorway. Prolonging the inevitable. But he couldn't do it forever. Who knew how long it would be before Herbert returned to the basement.

He took a breath and turned back towards the hallway. He found himself walking quietly, as though the sounds of his own footsteps would scare him. Although, with how jittery he felt, that may well be true.

As soon as he crossed the threshold into the living room, Herbert snapped his head around to look at him. He scrutinised Dan with eyes that seemed to bore into his soul. It made the hair on the man's arms prickle and rise.

Dan cleared his throat.

'I'm, uh, I'm sorry about that,'

'Why did you say it?'

To Dan's surprise, Herbert didn't sound upset or angry. He sounded legitimately confused. But there was something else in his tone. Something that Dan couldn't quite recognise. He shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly. 

'… I didn't mean to? It just happened,' 

Herbert's brow furrowed as he continued to scrutinise the other man. After a few seconds of silence he nodded, rose from the couch and walked towards the doorway.

'Why did you hold my hand?'

Dan hadn't been expecting that question. He blinked in surprise, feeling heat rise in his face. He suddenly couldn't look at Herbert, instead directing his gaze straight down towards the floor. As he was trying to think of a way to answer that, a thought came to mind. He decided to voice it.

'Why did you hold mine?' 

Now it was Herbert's turn to look away.

'You're avoiding the question, Dan.'

'So are you,'

And so they were at an impasse, however childish it may have been. 

At that, Herbert began to try to move past Daniel, and suddenly his embarrassment was lost. A spirit of boldness overtook him, and it was time to rip the proverbial bandage off.

'Wait,' 

He reached out and gently touched Herbert's elbow in an effort to stop him.

'I held your hand because I wanted to. Because I liked it.' 

Herbert froze in his tracks. 

The silence that followed dragged on for what felt like an age. In reality, it was just a few seconds.

'I'm not Meg,' Herbert said eventually. His back was turned to Dan. 

'I know,'

'I'm not a girl.'

'I know,' Dan repeated. 

Herbert turned to face the other man with a puzzled expression, like he was waiting for this to be some kind of joke. For the other shoe to drop. 

'Why did you cause such a fuss about a few scratches?' 

Dan let out a breath and crossed his arms as if to brace himself.

'Because you were hurt… because I care about you,'

Herbert's mouth fell open slightly in surprise, or something akin to it. He snapped it shut as soon as his brain seemed to catch up with his action, but almost subconsciously, one of his hands wandered to rest over the plaster on his arm.

Dan let his own arms drop to his sides.

'Can I hold your hand again?' 

Herbert stared at Dan in bewilderment.

'I, um, yes,' he replied in a quick, quiet voice.

Dan held his hand out patiently, waiting for Herbert to reciprocate. 

Hesitantly, he did. 

Hand in hand, they stood there for a while. Nothing was said. The two men just looked at their joined hands, both gently grasping the other. Dan ran his thumb in slow, soothing circles over the back of Herbert's hand. 

Eventually, the scientist broke the silence.

'Why did you say it?' 

Dan felt a sense of déjà vu.

There was no context to the question. It didn't need any. He knew immediately what Herbert was referring to. His slip of the tongue earlier.

'For the same reason I held your hand,'

Herbert looked at him now. From behind the wide frames of his glasses, his eyes pierced through Dan's.

'Have you ever wanted to kiss me?'

Dan's throat felt like it was squeezing shut of its own volition. There had been many times when he'd wanted to kiss Herbert. Even when they were sneaking into a morgue. Even when he was with Meg.

'Yes,'

'Do- do you want to kiss me now?' 

'If I did, would you let me?'

Herbert's face flushed, and after a moment of what seemed to be deliberation, he replied.

'Yes,'

Dan smiled, and he felt as though a knot in his chest had been untied. He leant down at the same time that Herbert cautiously leant up, and they met tentatively in the middle. They shared a quick, gentle kiss, and when they parted Dan couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

Herbert returned it with a small smile of his own, before turning on his heels and making his way towards the basement stairs.

'Wait, where are you going?'

'I have work to catch up on,' the scientist called. 'Thanks to that damnable dog, a whole beaker of my solution went to waste, which means I have to make more.'

Dan wandered out into the hallway as his roommate began to descend the first few steps.

'Well… can we do that again?'

Herbert turned on the step, concealing a smile with an eye roll.

'If you help me, then yes.'

Dan reached for the banister, never more eager to help the man with his questionable scientific ventures.

'Okay,'


End file.
